


5 times Neal was there when someone needed him and one time someone was there for him

by stan_of_many



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: And shows it in different ways, Caring Neal Caffrey, Caring Peter Burke, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Intelligence, Five And One, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Neal being good with people, Neal cares about people, Sick Character, Sick Diana, Sweet, insecure Mozzie, sad Jones, scared Elizabeth, sweet Neal Caffrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29632479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stan_of_many/pseuds/stan_of_many
Summary: “Peter wasn’t the type to feel insecure but he envied the CI sometimes as he watched the ease with which Neal could make someone feel comfortable, reassure them that everything was okay, dry a woman’s tears and sweetly amuse a small child.Those skills of course had been used to cheat and swindle his way across five continents, but Neal Caffrey also cared about people, and knew how to show it.”What it says on the tin. One-shots of five times Neal was caring, sweet, and there for people who needed help and one time Peter was caring, sweet, and there for him.
Relationships: Diana Berrigan & Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke & Neal Caffrey, Neal Caffrey & Clinton Jones, Neal Caffrey & Mozzie, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	1. Elizabeth

It was one of those days. El knew it as soon as Peter walked through the door, his face gray, hugging her a little tighter than usual, an uncharacteristically silent Neal following behind him. It was one of those days where things almost went bad. One of the days that were fortunately rare, but shook her badly and reminded her all too vividly that her husband didn’t just leave every day to sit at a comfy desk in a safe office. No, his life was on the line far more often then she even knew. But today was one of the days that she looked at him as he walked through the door—and she knew. 

***

Neal didn’t like the role reversal one bit,  _he_ was the one supposed to be giving  _Peter_ heart attacks, not the other way around. 

The sound of the SWAT team barreling down the doors had never sounded so welcome to Neal as he had heard it over the van equipment that afternoon. The undercover had gone bad frighteningly fast and things had been so close that Neal had all but invited himself over for dinner, needing the extra hours with the agent to reassure himself that, yes,  Peter was okay . 

The meal was quiet, mostly utensils scraping against plates with the occasional “pass the salt”. There were more leftovers than usual. 

Peter relaxed onto the couch and turned on the game and Neal joined him after the dishes were washed and put away. After about fifteen minutes Neal stood and excused himself to the bathroom heading up the stairs.

A strange sound halted him and he paused at the top of the staircase: a shuddering breath, a sniff; someone was crying. 

He turned the corner, away from the bathroom and toward Peter and Elizabeth’s bedroom where the noise was coming from. He stopped in the doorway as he took in Elizabeth’s silhouette sitting on the bed in the dark. She had excused herself a few minutes before mentioning some work she needed to do, but she didn’t seem to be doing any event planning at the moment. “Elizabeth?” He called softly. She started and he could see her shadowy figure wipe a hand quickly down her face,

“Neal! Sorry, you surprised me. Can I help you with anything?” He ignored the question and took a step into the room. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine!” Her tone was falsely bright and the catch in her voice belied her words. Every instinct was screaming at him, the perfectly honed people-reading skills urging him  _she needs help, help her _ . He took a few more steps and sat carefully on the bed, leaving a bit of space between them. 

“What’s wrong?” His tone was kind, caring, concerned, a voice perfected and used on hundreds of cons but now, and perhaps for the first time, being used with total sincerity. 

Elizabeth could feel the tears welling back up at the words. For a moment nothing filled the silence except her uneven breaths. 

“It was bad today, wasn’t it?” Her voice sounded almost girlish as she finally spoke, “You guys were really close to a lot of things going wrong weren’t you?” 

Neal was silent for a long moment, his face shadowed in the dark room. 

“Yes.” He didn’t bother trying to soften the blow, she clearly wanted the truth, not a platitude.

“I didn’t even know he had a takedown today.” Her voice was wavering, “Not that I usually know, but really that’s the worst part. Every day he walks out that door and I know that this day could be the one—“ her voice broke for a moment, “Neal it’s  so hard .” 

She felt his gentle hand rest on her knee, sympathy and understanding pouring from the gesture, “And then a day like today comes and makes it so real and I can just see him laying there and I can’t—“ She couldn’t hold back the wave of sobs that shook her whole body. She felt Neal’s arm circle around her shoulders and she fell against him without a thought, her face pressing into his shoulder and rapidly wetting the expensive fabric. 

Neal felt wetness trail down his own cheek as he held Elizabeth, firmly, gently, almost like he would a child, letting his embrace become a haven for her grief and fear to spill out. 

He knew the job of an FBI Agent was dangerous but as a CI he was there with Peter, he had options, ways to keep Peter safe, the choice to save Peter’s life however he needed to—if it came down to it. 

But to watch Peter leave every day and passively sit there, having no control over any of the dangerous situations that the agent was thrown into—Neal understood her misery. He tightened the embrace, rubbing a gentle hand down her back as her sobs began to slow.

They sat for several minutes, Elizabeth leaning exhaustedly against him, the only noise in the room being her hitched breaths. She sat up suddenly,

“I’m sorry Neal, I didn’t mean to put this on you. You happened by at the wrong time...” 

“It’s okay.” he stood and grabbed the Kleenex box that sat on the dresser and handed it to her. She blew her nose and he sat back down. 

Their eyes had adjusted to the dark somewhat and she could make out his expression a little better now as he looked at her, meeting her gaze directly with an almost desperate sincerity.

“Elizabeth,” his voice was quiet, “you know if it came down to it I would give my life to protect him.” She took his hand,

“Yes. I know. I pray to God that it will never come to that—“

“—but if it did, I would.” She nodded and squeezed his hand,

“Yes. I know, Neal. I know that. I do feel better now that you work with him, I’ve felt that way for a while I think.” She drew in a shaky breath,“But it’s still hard.”

He nodded. 

“I know.” Another silence fell, both of them lost in thought. 

“Neal?” The uncharacteristic timidity in her voice was marked and he looked over, “could you, maybe, not tell Peter about this? I don’t want him to worry about me.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s the best idea El, Peter should know how you feel. You should tell him.”

“I do tell him, he does know, but I don’t want to tell him all of it. I don’t want him thinking about me when he goes out there and worrying about my worrying, I don’t want to be the reason he loses focus one day—“ her voice was back in danger territory as she cut off and Neal cut in,

“Okay. I understand.” He rubbed his hand gently on her knee as she brought herself back under control, “But El, can you promise you’ll talk to someone? You can talk to me, or if I’m not available you can talk to Moz, or someone else entirely just...don’t let it weigh on you alone. It’s easier if you share it.” She nodded,

“I promise.” She gave his hand a small squeeze, “Thank you Neal.” He ducked his head almost shyly as she stood. “Well! I really do have some work to do now that I’ve finished with that emotional wreck.” Elizabeth smiled somewhat sheepishly and Neal jumped up as well,

“Yeah, I’ll leave you to that. I was going to use the restroom...” He made his way down the hall. 

***

“El said to give you these...” Peter looked disgruntled as he sulkily handed Neal a neatly wrapped package of baked goods, “and says to tell you thanks but she wouldn’t tell me what for. Should I be worried Caffrey?” He glared with the faux suspicion that both of them knew was entirely baseless. Neal grinned,

“My intentions toward your wife are entirely pure Peter.” 

Peter rolled his eyes as he made his way to his office, grumbles of “She wouldn’t even let me try one...” fading away with him. 

Neal unwrapped the foil, quirking a smile at the fact that Elizabeth had somehow chosen the day that he hadn’t managed to grab any breakfast to send the food. 

A small note fell out of the wrapping. He picked it up curiously as he broke off a bit of muffin and his expression softened as he read the words.

_ Thanks for keeping an eye on him  _


	2. Diana

Morning sickness  _sucked_. Diana had managed pretty well for most of her eight months of pregnancy, taking some anti-nausea medication that worked beautifully. But somehow she had rushed out the door that morning without the little orange prescription bottle and now she was hovering miserably over a toilet in the bathroom on the 21st floor, down the hall from the offices. 

Peter was back now,  _thank God_ Peter was finally back from prison, and not too much worse for the wear, but that also meant he could and would send her home as soon as he saw how she was feeling. 

There was no way Diana would go home because of a little morning sickness, especially the first week that Peter was back. She was already annoyed enough by the sympathetic looks, whispers of “should she be doing that?”, and people handling her like rare china; the last thing she needed was for Peter to send her home. 

He was on a takedown for the morning though, it was a simple one but he wouldn’t get back to the office for at least another hour, so she was hopeful in getting away with it. 

She fought against the nausea, taking deep breaths, pressing pressure points, and desperately trying to focus on something else. 

To her great relief the sickness began to subside after a few minutes. She ventured back to the office, nearly empty with most of the division either helping the op or taking an early lunch, ready to focus for the first time all morning but stopped by the break room to fill a cup with water first. 

Her heart sank as Caffrey sauntered into the small kitchen while she gulped it down and savored the cool relief in contrast to the dizziness and nausea. The last thing she needed was the observant CI reporting to Peter. 

He busied himself with putting on a pot of coffee, his brows furrowing slightly as he glanced at her, no doubt cataloguing the pale complexion and sheen of sweat and coming to his own (likely correct) conclusion. He didn’t say anything though, just filled the coffee pot quietly. 

Neal had been the best of the lot during the past few months if Diana was honest. He treated her the same way that he always did, teasing, bantering, annoying her—all in all  not treating her like she was about to break—while somehow having almost a sixth sense to help her in the few moments she really needed it. He never made a big deal about it, just gave her a hand with a grin that told her he’d never think any less of her. 

So, maybe he wasn’t the worst person to be around, but as she began to regret the careless drink of water that now churned queasily in her stomach and the smell of coffee that was usually so appetizing turned revolting and pushed her into dangerous territory, she wished desperately that he would leave. 

She slowed her breathing, trying to force herself back in control and casually pressed at a point on her wrist, but a careless glance at the trash can displayed the remains of a deviled ham sandwich and the leftovers shoved her over the edge. 

With a gag she threw herself over to the sink—she would never make it to the bathroom and the thought of being near the sandwich was unbearable—and leaned over it as her stomach flipped and bile crawled thickly up her throat.

In almost an instant she felt a capable hand pulling her hair from her face and holding it back as a steadying arm wrapped around her shoulder. 

She knew who it was but didn’t have the brain space for embarrassment as she began wretching violently, everything she had eaten in the past twelve hours making its presence unpleasantly known. 

“Easy, easy...” Neal’s voice breathed in her ear, his hand rubbing gently and firmly down her back, “Just relax, you’ll be fine.” His touch was grounding as illness surged over her. 

The bout lasted for a minute or so before her stomach began to calm down, leaving her shaking from the effort of the ordeal. She stayed leaning over the sink for a few seconds, allowing her stomach to settle before looking up. 

Bad idea. 

The tide of nausea may have receded but a wave of dizziness took over and left her reeling and clutching at him. 

“I need—to sit down.” 

Neal’s hand was still rock steady on her back and his arm wrapped supportively around her waist at the words. 

“Careful, carful” he murmured, “I’ve got you.” 

He took charge and lowered her gently to the floor, pushing her head between her knees. He stood up for a moment when he finished and she barely stopped herself from reaching out and grasping at his clothes to bring back his comforting strength. 

As it was she heard water running, washing away the traces of her illness and within a few seconds he was back. She would have died before admitting how relieved she was at his presence, but she let herself lean against him all the same as he knelt next to her, placing a wet paper towel on the back of her neck and rubbing a hand comfortingly down her spine as he had done a few minutes before. 

They sat in silence for several minutes. A funny sight it would have been to any outsider, the agent leaning into the con man, the criminal caring for the FBI. But in that moment they weren’t criminal and law enforcement, they were just Neal and Diana. 

Gradually her head began to clear and the humiliation of the entire situation began to take hold. Dang it, did she really have to get horribly ill in front of the perfect and spotless Neal Caffrey? And even more annoying, when on earth had Caffrey’s opinion of her become so important? She shook off the thoughts, regardless of the answers it wouldn’t do to stay on the floor forever and she really was grateful he had been there. 

She raised her head, this time with better results. 

To his everlasting credit Neal didn’t ask “are you okay?” Or “can I get you anything?” Or any other platitudes that people asked after illness that made her feel helpless and furious. He just helped her up, far more easily than she would have expected considering his slender form, and—anticipating her needs instead of making her ask for them—handed her a cup of water. 

“Just rinse your mouth out, I wouldn’t drink any yet.” He stood back quietly, letting her take charge of the situation and decide how they would react to it, giving her the modicum of control that her dignity so desperately needed. She clutched at it and felt like hugging him but smiled wryly instead as their eyes met. 

“Well that...sucked.” They might as well be honest about it. He huffed a laugh and put on an a thoughtful expression, 

“I don’t know, I might consider it a bonding experience.” She glared at him without much venom,

“Next time  _I’ll_ be the one holding  _your_ hair back and  _you_ can be the one vomiting in the sink Caffrey. Then we can call it a bonding experience.”

“Is that an offer for next time I get sick?” She laughed,

“I suppose I can’t tell you ‘not a chance’ after you just did it for me.” He ducked his head and if she hadn’t known better she would say it was shy, but he looked up a moment later,

“How about you make sure not to forget your medication again and we’ll call it even.” 

“How did you know I was taking—“ She cut herself off and rolled her eyes, “you’re Neal Caffrey, why bother even asking?” He grinned,

“The way I see it we have two choices here Diana, either you go home and take the rest of the day off or you lend me your car and a key to your apartment and I can make it back with your meds before Peter gets back.” She sighed but it didn’t take long to decide. 

“Okay go. My keys are—“

“In the top left drawer of your desk, got it.” She rolled her eyes again but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. 

There had been a time where Diana wouldn’t have dreamed of even letting him know the street she lived on (too late now, he had been over several times) and there was no doubt in her mind that Caffrey would use the golden opportunity to copy her key at very least. 

But Peter’s time in prison had changed things between them—and, for better or for worse, she did trust him now. 

She knew that, yes, he would make a spare key without her permission, but she trusted that he would be making it to be able to check on her if he needed to, not to rob her blind one day. 

And really, that just about summed up Neal Caffrey didn’t it? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a disclaimer, I have no idea if there is a pregnancy-safe anti-nausea medication so please take all medical descriptions with a grain of salt.


	3. Jones

Unlike Diana, Clinton didn’t mind Caffrey’s presence in the van. Partially due to his naturally more easy going personality he wasn’t as bothered as his teammate by the leg bouncing, handcuff clicking, and general restless movement that pervaded the van whenever the CI was forced into it. 

Because really, you had to feel some sympathy for the guy. Caffrey was already bubbling with energy most of the time and being shoved with at  least one other person if not  four into a tiny space that couldn’t help but remind a convict of a prison cell...well Clinton wasn’t shocked that the van wasn’t Neal Caffrey’s happy place.

Then there was just the fact that honestly, Caffrey wasn’t the worst person to be stuck with anyway for hours at a time. Yeah, he was antsy, but he also had a good sense of when to make easy and entertaining small talk and also when it was time to shut up. And, while Clinton would have preferred not to admit it to anyone else, Caffrey was also a really good listener. 

Clinton hadn’t meant to find out that particular fact, he wasn’t an over-sharing type of guy in general. But life happens, and being stuck in the van late at night with a con man who can read people like a book after having your heart semi-broken and not being able to talk about it with anyone, well...a guy might do things he wouldn’t have thought he’d do. In Jones’s situation that meant spilling his heart to the convict sitting shoulder to shoulder with him and somehow not regretting it. 

Clinton wasn’t especially talkative usually, but Caffrey really was holding up far more than just his side of the conversation. The agent felt slightly guilty as the CI struggled valiantly to keep up a conversation with nothing but a few grunts from Clinton as they sat together in the van. A majority of his brain space was being used though, taken up as he purposefully did  not think about Jenny (though his success seemed to be rather lacking). 

As he tried his hardest to  not think about the subject, the agent realized suddenly that the van was silent and did a double take, trying to figure out what he’d missed. He looked over at Caffrey who was looking back at him a bit quizzically. 

“Sorry, what was the question?” Neal shook his head slightly,

“I didn’t say anything.” He raised an eyebrow, “You seem to have a lot on your mind.”

“Yeah. You could say that.” Clinton’s tone was a bit wry and he glanced at the monitors. 

Neal didn’t try to fill the silence that followed, just kind of looked down, nodding slightly as if he understood something, and Clinton got the feeling that maybe he did. He looked back at the CI who looked up again, his expression open—inviting but without any pressure. 

The gentle silence kinda just tipped everything over the edge. 

“I love my job here you know.” Clinton moved his gaze back to the monitors as he spoke, “It just gets a bit hard sometimes when you feel like it’s either the FBI or a personal life and you can’t have both. I made my choice a long time ago, but sometimes I want to have my cake and eat it too.” 

“Don’t we all.” The words were huffed with a laugh, not mocking, just agreeing. 

“There was...” Clinton wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Caffrey about Jenny. But really, wouldn’t it feel so good to talk about it? To talk about  _ her _ with someone? With anyone?  _ To heck with it _ , he thought “...there was this girl I’d been seeing for a few months.” He smiled, “Jenny. That was her name.”

“Jenny. She sounds cute.” Neal smiled. 

“She was cute. More than just physically. She was a real sweetheart.” And the story came spilling out. How they had met six months before in a small candy store and bonded over a shared love of a very specific brand of chocolate peanut butter cups. How they had exchanged numbers and kept in touch before going on their first date. How she had never tried to pump him for information about the FBI or felt the need to bring it up to her friends, introducing him as Clinton and not staking his identity in the fact that he was FBI. How she had loved Broadway and how excited she had been to introduce him to musical theater when she found out how little he knew. 

“I will not say that I cried at Les Mis,” Clinton confided, “but I won’t say that I didn’t.” Neal laughed, 

“Hey, everyone cries watching Les Mis, there’s no shame to it.” 

“You cried at Les Mis?” The agent was skeptical, 

“All six times.” 

Clinton laughed and grew thoughtful, “Jenny cried so hard that her makeup started running down her face...” he trailed away, a painful ache forming in his chest at the memory. 

“What happened?” Neal’s question was gentle, as if he understood the contradictions swirling inside Clinton, the contradiction of wanting to talk about it and pour out the whole story and not wanting to think about it ever again at the same time. 

Clinton huffed a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh and cocked his head, 

“Nothing dramatic. We both agreed that we liked each other a lot but weren’t in a position to give the support we both needed for marriage so it would be better to break it off before we broke each other’s hearts.” He spoke matter-of-factly because matter-of-fact was the only way to talk about it while staying firmly in control. “I don’t regret it, but I didn’t count on how much I’d miss her.” 

Neal nodded as Clinton turned hastily back to the monitors. 

Clinton wasn’t much of a crier but he appreciated the way Caffrey took a long sip of water as he wiped a speck of dust from his eye.

“So, yeah.” He said finally as the silence grew a bit heavy, “That was most of what I was thinking about.” 

“I get it.” Neal’s voice was sincere. He didn’t follow up the comment with a long story about a situation of his that was questionably similar, or assure Clinton that ‘everyone’s been there’ and ‘he’d get over it eventually’. No, he just nodded, his expression not overly sympathetic in a way that would embarrass, just understanding. “I get it.” 

Silence fell and Clinton wondered briefly if it should have been awkward because...it wasn’t. Just comfortable, thoughtful, as the two men sat side by side, one lost in his own thoughts, the other offering unspoken support. 

As Clinton drove home around midnight he felt better. A lot better. Better than he had since the date the last Sunday.

He wondered  why it didn’t hurt so much now, why the painful sting of loss had subsided, leaving a much more bearable ache. After all, Caffrey hadn’t done anything particularly special, hadn’t given him a genius solution to every problem, he’d just been there listening as Clinton talked. 

But maybe that was it. 

Clinton realized as he thought about it, that a sympathetic listener—someone who wasn’t trying to fix everything, who knew how life was and that things happened, who wouldn’t analyze him, judge him, or spill out a useless platitudes—was all he had really needed. He was content in life, he didn’t regret the choices he’d made, but it was still nice to have someone to talk to when things got hard. 

So, Clinton never minded having Neal in the van, because there really wasn’t anyone better at having a sense of when to make easy and entertaining small talk and when to shut up. 

And he was a dang good listener as well. 


	4. Mozzie

Finding Neal Caffrey had been the most outrageous piece of luck the universe had ever given Mozzie. He hadn’t known it at the time but looking back he thanked every god he could think of (in case one of them was listening) for letting him lose those five hundred dollars in Find The Lady that day.  


In the beginning he hadn’t thought the partnership would last with the kid; of course he wanted it to, but he didn’t bother fooling himself into thinking that the young and charismatic rising star of the criminal world would stick around  _ him _ for long. Neal would stay just long enough to learn what Mozzie had to teach and he’d be off. 

Mozzie was going to make the most of the time he had. 

At first the partnership was largely based on mutual benefit, the charming front man/forger and the genius pulling the strings—they both needed each other. But as Neal learned the tips and tricks of the trade for himself, formed his own connections, and studied under Mozzie, the older con began bracing for the young man’s inevitable goodbye. 

And yet, somehow, and for some reason, young Neal Caffrey had stuck around. 

It was for his connections no doubt, Mozzie explained to himself, Neal didn’t have the same black market acquaintances that Mozzie had, so of course he’d want to keep up some kind of relationship with Mozzie. 

It didn’t explain why Neal stuck around so closely though. Mozzie was involved in some way or another in a vast majority of the kid’s enterprises. Even when Neal did leave it was only temporarily, for a few weeks or so, arranging to meet up at a certain place when he was finished. 

Of course, Mozzie continued to tell himself, his black market connections really  were valuable, and then there was always the chance that Neal thought Mozzie was the only one who could protect him from government brainwashing. Mozzie didn’t try to explain Neal’s motives further, just enjoyed the successful cons he pulled off with the help of the young thief. 

Neal would leave at some point of course, but Mozzie wasn’t complaining while he stayed. 

It was with complete shock and utter horror that Mozzie realized one fine day as he walked down the streets of New York (Neal was galavanting off in France for a week or so but would be back soon) that, oh travesty!,  _ he had stopped bracing himself for Neal leaving _ . 

The implications of that realization were dire, it meant—it meant that he had  _ let the kid in _ , that he  _ expected _ Neal to stay, that if—no,  _ when _ Neal did leave for good (as he surely would) that Mozzie would be hurt. 

Mozzie was disgusted with his carelessness in letting himself form the attachment, especially considering how one-sided it was. Now Mozzie needed Neal, but Neal hadn’t needed Mozzie, not really, since the Adler con had finished. The partnership now heavily favored the other member, and that was a dangerous position for Mozzie to be in. 

Mozzie stewed over it for days, distracted enough that he didn’t take his usual precautions, didn’t check his food for radiation, or search for bugs as thoroughly in his safe houses, didn’t look both ways when he was crossing the street——

***

“Moz!” The voice sounded far away. “Moz!” It was a bit clearer that time and sounded familiar, “Mozzie!” The voice was urgent, worried, now and it dragged him out of sleep. He opened his eyes and was startled by the fuzziness of the unfamiliar room. A few seconds later he was aware of the vague pain that was everywhere but seemed especially to reside in his leg. A familiar face swam into view. 

“Neal?”

“Moz!” Neal’s voice was relieved, “you’re awake!” 

“You’re supposed to be in France.” A strange expression crossed the young man’s face, 

“I came back from France two days ago where you were supposed to be waiting for me at Wednesday.” Mozzie thought about this. It could only be true if it today was Friday but he knew for a fact that today was Tuesday which meant it definitely couldn’t be Friday. 

“What happened?” 

“You got hit by a car apparently and have been in a coma for three days. It took me an entire day to find you when we got back.” Three days. Maybe it really was Friday. Of course maybe it was all a conspiracy to confuse him. Mozzie struggled to sit up. 

“Three days?” He looked over at Neal whose expression was shadowed. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Moz, I come home from a week in France and you’re half dead and you ask me what’s wrong?” His jaw was tight but his eyes were oddly glassy, “I’m just a front man, I wouldn’t be much without my man behind the curtain.” 

Mozzie huffed a laugh and winced. This was getting out of hand, it was time to be honest and cut the kid free. Neal was clearly staying out of some strange sense of obligation (it was the only explanation besides aliens or government agents who were blackmailing him) which wasn’t fair to the kid who owed him nothing. Mozzie had gotten as much out of the partnership as Neal had. It would hurt less anyway if he sent Neal away than if Neal chose to leave himself when he realized that. 

“You’re a lot more than a front man Neal. You know everything I can teach you. You shouldn’t be stuck with me. You should go.”

“Go?” Mozzie was confused by the genuine hurt in the kid’s eyes as Neal looked at him, “Where would I go—and why?”

“I’m just saying you can leave when you want to. You don’t have to stick around with me—in general.” 

“First of all Moz,” There was an edged of indignation to Neal’s tone, “I’m  _ not _ leaving. You’re going to be hobbling around for weeks with that leg and I doubt Fat Charlie or Jimmy The Snitch or any of your other friends will be willing to do much to help. And secondly, you’re my friend. Why would I want to leave?” 

Mozzie just stared at him in shock and picked at the blankets. Friend? 

Neal mistook the confusion as spaciness from the drugs and stood, “I should get a nurse now that you’re awake, I’ll be back.” He left. Mozzie wasn’t sure what to think. 

“You scared him badly.” Kate’s voice broke the silence. He hadn’t even realized she was there, but now he saw her sitting next to him. She took his hand and her voice was gentle, “I’ve never seen him cry when he’s not on a con before Moz. He was crying when we heard about the John Doe in the hospital that matched your description.” It was all quite overwhelming and Mozzie wasn’t sure what to make of it, especially as Kate continued, “He cares about you Mozzie. Do you really not know that?”

No. Mozzie hadn’t known that. He hadn’t let himself. Because the idea the Neal would care about him too, that he could perhaps be the first person in Mozzie’s life to stick around, was something Mozzie wouldn’t let himself dare to hope for. 

And yet, somehow, it was true. 

***

Mozzie struggled to wrap his head around things for the next few days. Neal practically lived in the hospital room, making sure Mozzie was eating, assuaging his fears about special brainwashing medicine, even smuggling in Mozzie’s favorite bug detector when Mozzie got antsy because he thought the government was listening in. 

No one else had ever bothered to give Mozzie’s (very legitimate) fears about bugs and brainwashing anything more than a laugh before—but Neal bothered. 

Neal bothered even though Mozzie knew he didn’t believe any of it, Neal bothered because of Mozzie—Neal bothered  for Mozzie. 

And it was in that moment, as Neal spent an hour carefully sweeping over every inch of Mozzie’s hospital room with a Russian surplus bug detector, that Mozzie realized just how lucky he had been to find Neal Caffrey. 


	5. The Missing Agent’s Wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little different—I wanted to show Neal’s compassion for someone he doesn’t know as well—a subject that actually comes up rather often in canon and I find very sweet. 
> 
> It also doubles as an excuse for us to see Peter’s thoughts about Neal in a situation such as this, something I was kind of dying to write about. 
> 
> And then, of course, Neal interacting with children—always a plus. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The day was unusual the second that Neal and Peter stepped into the FBI lobby. 

“Please Agent Rice, I can just sit in the back—“

“I’m sorry ma’am, it’s against procedure.” The young woman seemed on the verge of tears, balancing a baby on her hip with a diaper bag and purse slung across her shoulder as she spoke with the agent from Missing Persons, 

“I’ll step out if he starts crying, we won’t be distracting.” Her tone was desperate as the agent firmly refused,

“It’s the FBI ma’am, it’s classified we can’t just let people into our briefings.” 

Peter stopped and tapped the agent lightly on the arm, 

“Kimberly, what’s going on?” 

Rice was matter-of-fact,

“Organized crime lost contact with an undercover agent, James Neeson, almost 23 hours ago. It should have been a short assignment but...” she shrugged, “We were going to fill in the White Collar division this morning, it’s all hands on deck. This is Ava Neeson, Neeson’s wife.” She gestured to the young woman who tried to manage a smile, “and she wants to stay here and sit in on everything. I’m trying to tell her—“

“Agent Rice,” Neal interrupted, “we have some room over in White Collar, do you think maybe Mrs. Neeson could stay with us? She might not be able to sit at the briefings but she’ll be able to hear any news almost as soon as we know it.” The woman started forward,

“Yes, please, even that would be fine!”

“Neal!” Peter hissed right as Rice muttered

“Caffrey!” But Neal stared them both down, 

“Peter,” his voice was low, “think about if it were Elizabeth.” 

It only took Peter a second to back off. Rice glowered at Neal but reluctantly shrugged,

“If it’s alright with you Burke...”

“Peter’s fine with it.” Neal said and went over to the young woman, putting a comforting hand on her arm, introducing himself, and mentioning something about getting her settled. 

Peter rolled his eyes but made no further protest. He couldn’t help but smile a little as he watched Neal shoulder the woman’s bags and smile at the baby, chatting lightly with her as he made his way to the elevator, leaving Peter to follow. 

Peter wasn’t the type to feel insecure but he envied the CI sometimes as he watched the ease with which Neal could make someone feel comfortable, reassure them that everything was okay, dry a woman’s tears and sweetly amuse a small child. 

Neal knew when to draw someone into an embrace and give them a shoulder to cry on and when to just give them a pat on the back and some space. He knew when to try to problem solve and when to just be a sympathetic listening ear. He knew when to hand them a beer or when a steaming cup of tea made more sense. 

Those skills of course had been used to cheat and swindle his way across five continents, butthis was another side to Neal Caffrey, one that Peter seen more and more often since he had taken the CI on. 

Neal Caffrey cared about people, and knew how to show it. 

***

The entire division was called to a briefing on the case a few minutes after they entered the office. Neal looked at Peter with an unspoken question as Hughes ordered everyone to the conference room. Peter sighed, 

“Stay with her. If we need you I’ll call you.” Neal nodded,

“Ava will want to know what happened in that briefing.”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done and...you can tell her what you think she should know.” 

Peter mounted the stairs to the conference room as Neal walked back to the young woman. 

***

Peter’s expression was sober as he left the briefing an hour and a half later. Glancing over the room, the corner on the far end of the bullpen next to Neal’s desk had been staked out for the young mother and her son. 

The baby was sitting on a small mat on the floor, playing happily with several origami animals. Neal had scrounged up a more comfortable chair from somewhere in the building and the young wife was curled up in it, attempting to read a book but glancing up several times a minute. She jumped up as she saw Peter and looked at Neal who had also stood. He said something to her and she sat back down, tapping her foot anxiously and watching as he approached Peter. 

“Any news?” Peter sighed,

“Hope isn’t completely lost, but it doesn’t look good.” He filled Neal in on the details, the CI’s lips thinning as he heard the situation. He took a deep breath as Peter finished and nodded, as if gaining his resolve. 

“Try and find him Peter.”

“Trust me, I will.” 

Peter couldn’t help but watch from his office as Neal returned to the corner and sat down opposite the woman, their knees almost touching. He took both her hands, his expression compassionate as he spoke. Peter saw the hitch of the woman’s shoulders and her hand fly to her mouth as she struggled valiantly not to break down. Neal forced her gently to meet his gaze and said something with a palpable earnestness. She nodded at his words and seemed to take strength from them, her shoulders straightening slightly. 

***

The next few hours were excruciatingly unproductive as teams turned up useless lead after useless lead. Around lunch Peter took a quick break, heading to the office kitchen to snag something to eat. He ran into Neal who was looking intently at the tea bags. 

“How’s Ava doing?” Neal grimaced slightly, his expression a bit sad,

“As well as can be expected.” He ruffled through a few types of tea, choosing one and beginning to steep it. “How are things on your end?” Peter sighed,

“Nothing new. Literally nothing. We’ve eliminated about 37 non-leads.” 

“Well that’s 37 less things to waste time on.” Leave it to Caffrey to find the optimistic side. “Listen, Peter, the room down the hall with the couch, you don’t think people would mind if Ava used it?” Peter shook his head, 

“I think they’d understand. She wants to take a nap?”

“Well she doesn’t want to, but I’m going to try to convince her to lie down at least, she’s exhausted.” 

Peter said nothing, just clapped a hand gently on Neal’s shoulder and returned to his desk. 

***

When Peter next emerged from his office around 3:00 Ava was nowhere to be seen. 

Neal, however, was holding the baby against his chest patting him gently, walking up and down and murmuring as the baby fussed softly. Peter was briefly tempted to tease him but as he observed the sweetness of the scene he found he didn’t have the heart to mock it in any way. 

“You know, I’m not as surprised as I would have thought I’d be.” Diana spoke as she stood next to him, following Peter’s gaze and nodding toward Neal as the CI quieted the baby with a gently protective ease. 

Peter felt a small ache in his chest as he watched the baby close its eyes, sucking its thumb and drooling on the expensive dress shirt where his head rested. Neal had talked about kids, more than once, he had wanted to have them with Kate and Peter had been skeptical at the time, but his doubts faded as he watched the baby lay quietly in the CI’s arms. 

Neal noticed them and walked over, still patting the baby softly. 

“Any news?” He asked in a low voice. Peter just shook his head. Neal looked down, gazing for a few moments at the baby, a look of sorrow crossing his face. He looked back up, his eyes suddenly flinty, “This kid needs a dad. Find him, Peter.” 

Peter went back to his office with renewed determination. 

***

At around five PM the office sprang to life as a call from Missing Persons turned up a very promising lead. The next several hours were a buzz of non-stop activity. 

Peter only glimpsed Neal a few times in the stressful hours that followed, once talking intently with Ava while holding the baby, once explaining something that apparently involved several props in the shape of various items from his desk, and once pressing a plate of food on her with an encouraging expression. 

It wasn’t until 9:00 PM that Peter made his way to the top of the stairs overlooking the bullpen, worn out but triumphant. Neal joined him almost immediately, 

“News?” Neal’s expression was intense. Peter nodded, smiling exhaustedly and Neal’s face lit up. “You found him?” Twelve hours of tension drained from his shoulders in much the same way it had from Peter’s a few minutes before. 

“We found him. He’s alive, a bit worse for the wear, but he’ll be okay. We did it.” Neal clapped him on the shoulder, his smile wide, 

“I’ll go tell her.”

Peter couldn’t hear what was said exactly as Neal broke the happy news, only saw the look of terrified expectation on her face suddenly crumple in pure relief. She all but fell against Neal, burying her head in his chest, her shoulders heaving. Peter would have been squirming with discomfort but Neal just wrapped his arms around her, supporting and comforting her as she sobbed out the stress and terror of the past day. 

***

Agent Neeson was being transported to a hospital near by and Peter found himself following Mrs. Neeson’s car as Neal drove her over, late as it was, to go see him. He joined them as they stood in the waiting room, waiting for someone to take Ava to her husband. 

At last a nurse came over but shook her head as she saw the baby. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, we can’t let the baby in the room.” Neal held out his arms as slight panic crossed her face, 

“I’ll hold Danny, you go.” She nodded and handed him the baby, putting a hand on his arm for a long second, as she struggled to thank him.

“Neal...”

He just smiled with understanding and cocked his head toward the hallway, 

“Go on.” 

***

It was almost midnight before the agent and CIfound themselves walking to the car, shivering in the cool night air. 

Ava’s goodbye was still fresh in Neal’s mind, “You helped me through the worst day of my life. I don’t know how to thank you.” She had smiled, her eyes watering as he took her hand gently, 

“Just promise me you’ll rest up, Danny will be wanting his mama in the morning.” She had laughed,

“I want you to visit Neal, when James is out of the hospital. He wants to meet you.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Neal smiled, “You know how to contact me.” There hadn’t been much more to say—that could be said in words anyway. Ava had reluctantly let go of Neal’s hand before wordlessly hugging him again. He embraced her back, his eyes suspiciously wet, before finally saying goodbye. 

The agent and CI spent most of the ride quiet with exhaustion but Peter broke the silence as they approached June’s. 

“I was proud of you today Neal, proud to call you my partner. The way you cared for Ava...what you did today was every bit as important as what I did.” Compliments usually had the CI strutting but Neal just smiled gently, at this one, a sweet contentment residing in his face, his features tinged with fatigue. He said simply,

“She needed me.” And stepped out of the car. “Goodnight Peter, see you in the morning.” 

Peter watched Neal, slumped slightly with exhaustion, climb the steps to June’s door, his partner’s words hanging in the air. 

_ She needed me.  _

He smiled too and headed home. 


	6. ...And one. Peter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is any White Collar fic really complete without Peter and Neal being father-son/partners/best friends?

The operation had left them all deeply shaken. 

Neal had been in the van on this one, lending his expertise through an earpiece as Peter went undercover. It was only when Jones and Diana had entered the building that they realized the trap, the whole thing was rigged to blow within minutes. 

The explosion was big, big enough to completely collapse the building, but somehow the three agents emerged relatively unharmed, coughing smoke from their lungs and running to safety as timbers fell and the roof caved in. 

The intel had been gravely faulty, the whole op had come far to close to devastating disaster—every single one of them knew it. Nobody said a word but the set to Jones’s jaw, the gruffly shaky tone of Diana’s voice, the pallid color of Peter’s skin, the slight tremor in Neal’s hand—each paid a silent testament to how the day had almost gone. They should have been dead and if they were honest, it was pure luck that they weren’t. 

The fire department took charge of the scene, the team all too willing to undergo a quick medical check and get away as fast as possible from the ashes of the disaster. 

Peter called over to his team as the paramedic declared him fit to go,

“Diana, Neal, Clinton.” They made their way over and Peter felt the weight of leadership settle on his shoulders like a stone as they looked up to him, seeking the strength to face the next few hours after what had happened. “Come home with me.” 

It was unusual, success celebrations usually happened at a bar nearby, but tonight wasn’t going to be a celebration, it could hardly be called a success, and Peter knew they all needed something more intimate. 

He made a call to Elizabeth,

“Hi Hon. Clinton, Diana, and Neal will be joining us for dinner tonight if that’s okay.”

“Of course!” The first smile that day crossed Peter’s face as he heard her voice, “any particular reason?” 

“Just a hard day at work Honey.” Peter blessed the day he married her as she took it in stride,

“Dinner will be ready by the time you get here.” 

****

The meal was quiet, each member of the team finding comfort in the simple fact that they were all there around the table to enjoy the meal. Neal volunteered to stay and help clean up as Jones and Diana said their goodbyes, ready to crash after the long day. 

“Thanks boss.” Diana said softly as Peter opened the door to let them out. He nodded at her and shook Jones’s quietly offered hand. 

They would be okay, Peter knew that. Shaken but not permanently traumatized. They’d been trained at Quantico and they’d both been with the bureau long enough that they’d seen and experienced difficult things before. They knew how to handle it and they would be okay. 

It was Neal that Peter wasn’t sure about. 

Peter didn’t know nearly as much as he pretended to know about Neal’s life before his arrest. He knew that it hadn’t been easy, that people had been shot in front of his eyes, that the criminal world was rough, and on top of all that Neal had been to prison which couldn’t have been a picnic either. 

But still, for an untrained civilian to almost loose three people he cared about in one fell swoop in that explosion——

Explosion. 

Kate. 

A pit formed in Peter’s stomach. 

Somehow, in the horror of the day, the tragic incident at the airport it’s deeply painful ties to Neal hadn’t crossed his mind.

But now, as the vivid image of the plane exploding played in his thoughts and compared with the op today, he knew with certainty that Neal needed him. There was no way Neal was alright, not after almost loosing Jones, Diana, and  _ Peter _ in exactly the same way he had lost Kate. 

Peter walked silently back to the dining room and watched a moment as Neal cleaned up from dinner in the kitchen. 

It was moments like this, Peter thought as he looked over at Neal quietly washing dishes, his face still pale, his hair mussed from its usual careful styling, falling in soft waves over his forehead and reminding Peter of how young he truly was, it was moments like this that spelled danger. Handler and CI, the relationship worked on trust, but the government only allowed it to work on the knowledge that the handler could lay down the law. And if it came down to it, Peter wasn’t sure he could put young Neal Caffrey in prison again. The very thought sent shards of glass through his heart. 

But that wasn’t the problem at hand and Peter shoved it aside, cursing his lack of focus as the sound of shattering ceramic broke through his thoughts. His attention snapped to back Neal and his stomach twisted at the sight of his partner. 

A plate had fallen out of the Neal’s grasp, breaking into several large pieces on the floor, and he was standing now, his hands clutching at the edge of the sink, his whole body trembling. Breathing hard, his eyes were wide as if he was seeing something entirely different from the view of the Burke’s backyard outside the window. 

Peter was by his side in an instant. 

“Neal.” He spoke quietly. Neal’s gaze snapped to Peter’s face, his eyes meeting Peter’s almost wildly. The tension began to drain after a few seconds and slowly the CI wilted, releasing the edge of the sink and running a hand through his hair. 

“I’m so sorry.” His expression was apologetic and somewhat distraught as he knelt to the floor and began picking up the pieces of the plate. “I’ll pay for it.” 

Peter didn’t say a word, just took the dishrag off the the rack and knelt down next to Neal. He carefully removed the pieces of ceramic from the CI’s grasp, being careful not the cut him on the sharp edges. He gently took Neal’s hands, trembling and still soapy wet, and dried them as Neal crouched silently. Clasping his fingers gently around his CI’s wrists in a steady hold, the agent pulled him up and lead him over to the couch.

Peter sat down, squeezing his grasp slightly and rubbing his thumb softly along the CI’s forearm as Neal stood in front of him and almost between his knees, head lowered like a chastened child. 

The trembling hadn’t stopped and Peter could feel the tremors, his heart clenching in sympathy. 

He met Neal’s eyes directly, gentle brown meeting turbulent blue,

“Neal. I’m okay.”

“I know.” The words were an instinctive response. 

“Look at me Neal.” Peter pressed, “I’m okay. I wasn’t in the explosion. Diana and Jones weren’t in the explosion.” 

“I know.” This time the words were a bit more sincere. 

“I’m okay Neal. I’m right here and I’m fine.”

“I know.” The words were choked now. 

“Neal.” Peter spoke slowly, gentle and measured, “I am okay.” The words, repeated for the fourth time, seemed to crack some sort of wall inside of Neal who slumped to the floor and leaned heavily against the couch next to where Peter sat,

“I—“ Neal’s voice broke altogether. 

Neal Caffrey cried quietly. 

Peter had never wanted to know that fact and he wanted to know it even less as he observed it, his heart cracking at the sight. 

In contrast to the flair with which he lived life in general, Neal’s crying was not dramatic. There was no wrenched sobbing or loudly hitched breathing, just silent tears filling his eyes and spilling out, running trails down his cheeks that glistened in the soft lamplight of the room. 

Peter slid off the couch without a thought of the indignity of the position and pulled Neal close. He wrapped his arms around him and let the CI burrow into his comforting, steady,  _ living _ strength, let the graceful fingers clutch at his clothing and trace down his arm as Neal reassured himself that yes, Peter was there, he was living and breathing, and he was  _ okay _ . 

Because that was what Neal needed right now as his mind played images from the two explosions, one that had caused utter heartbreaking grief and the other that had so nearly caused almost worse devastation. He needed irrefutable reassurance that what had almost happened and what had really happened were two entirely different things. 

So Peter sat. Legs going numb against the hard wood of his living room floor Peter gave Neal irrefutable reassurance that tragedy hadn’t happened—that everyone was  _ okay _ . 

They sat that way for several minutes before Neal looked up with a sniff, his eyes wide as they met Peter’s with a sudden strange urgency, 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break the plate, it was just with everything and then Kate—“ Neal was rambling, “and the explosion, but it’s okay I can buy you a new one, I’ll buy you a new set, it’s fine—“ 

“Neal,” Peter broke in.

“—does El like 18th century China? Because—“

“Neal.” Peter’s voice was firm and Neal finally looked at him. “Neal that plate was very valuable. It was part of a set El bought for three dollars at a second-hand store. It’s worth at least fifty cents.” He deadpanned. Neal stared at him blankly for a few seconds before he relaxed slightly and huffed a laugh that sounded slightly choked, shaking his head and running a hand down his face. 

“Sorry.”

Peter smiled gently and brushed a hand over the CI’s dark hair. 

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah I’m okay.” Neal wasn’t looking at him, just giving what he thought was the right answer. Peter shook his head, 

“I didn’t ask if you were okay, you aren’t supposed to be right now, I asked if you were  _ going _ to be okay.” Peter tilted his head, challenging the CI to face the question. Neal let out a long breath and this time met Peter’s gaze.

“I’ll be okay.” Peter nodded,

“Okay.”

They were quiet for a few moments. 

“We should probably get off the floor.” Neal’s voice broke the silence, his tone much lighter, almost teasing. 

“Yeah,” Peter gave an exaggerated winced, “yeah, that might be a good idea, my back is killing me.” Neal had, of course, risen with the grace of a dancer and watched Peter with amusement as the agent hauled himself up with considerably less ease, 

“Not as young as you used to be?” Peter smiled wryly,

“Much as I’d like to think so, no.” 

Their eyes met as they stood facing each other and a silent exchange passed between them. A thank you. A reassurance. And finally, a smile. 

“You want a hand in the kitchen?” Peter asked. Neal grinned, 

“Sure.” 

***

Elizabeth came down a bit later and watched with amusement as the two men worked together, bantering over some unimportant argument as they wiped down the counters, the rest of the kitchen spotlessly clean. 

Neal looked lighter, much better than he had when he had walked through their front door earlier that evening, and the change was obvious. 

If El also noticed the way Neal’s gaze followed Peter around slightly more than usual, or the small, reassuring touches to shoulder or arm that the agent gave as he came near the CI, she didn’t say anything, just smiled to herself and went to get a bottle of wine from the pantry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end. I’m really rather proud of this fic, it is definitely one of my favorites and I would love to hear your thoughts, either in general or on each of the chapters/stories. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
